'Call Cyrus Cable!' for the defence. As the long-legged, bronzed
Sydney-sider lounged up to the witness-box, Bill's face, which had
assumed a more hopeful expression, became distinctly irradiated. For
this man was one of the shearers who had travelled down with him from
Tandara, and had agreed to drop all connection with the Union and its
revolutionary tactics. They had both been imprisoned at Poliah; had
suffered wrong and indignity at the hands of the insurgents. How had he
come up from the Darling, just in the nick of time? Bill didn't know,
but if he had seen Dick Donahue outside of the Court he might have
guessed.
'My name's Cyrus Cable, native of Bathurst. I'm a shearer in the season;
have a selection at Chidowla, this side of Tumberumba. I know some of
the men in the dock; saw them at Poliah when the row was on and the
steamer was burnt.'
'Will you point out any of the prisoners that you can identify?'
'Well, there's Bill Hardwick, an old mate of mine—and fellow-prisoner,
if it comes to that. It's dashed hard lines on him to be scruffed and
gaoled by those Union scallowags, first for not joinin' 'em, and then
locked up and tried because they ill-treated him and he couldn't get
away. I call that a queer sort of law.'
The witness is requested to confine himself to answering such questions
as are put to him, and not to give his opinion as to the law of the
land.
'Do you identify any other prisoners?'
'Yes. I saw that beauty with the hobbles on, fire his gun at the crew on
the boat twice; I saw him reload. He was one of the men as hustled Bill,
and the rest of our mob that came from Tandara, into the tent and set a
guard on us. I took notice of him then, and can swear to him positive.'
'Was the prisoner Hardwick with the rioters?'
'Yes, like me, because he couldn't help himself. I heard the President,
as he calls himself—there he is, the t'other end of the "bot" (I mean
the dock, but it's so like a branding pen)—say to that Janus Stoate, him
as passed the wire with our names when we left Tandara—"Put a good man
on each side of Bill Hardwick, so's he can't stir, and they'll take him
for a Unionist and keep pottin' at him. What fun it'll be!" and he
laughed. "I'll be behind him," says Stoate, "so he won't have no chance
of boltin'." That's the way it was worked to bring Bill, as straight a
chap as ever sharpened shears, into this steamer-burnin' racket.'
'How was it that you and your mates left your comrade in the lurch?'
'Well, we cleared as soon as the police came. The Union men bolted in
all directions and left the free labourers to mind themselves. We
thought Bill was comin' after us, and never missed him till we were
miles away.'
'Did you not return to rescue him?'
'No fear! We thought the police might run _us_ in for "aidin' and
abettin'." It was every man for himself, and the devil take the
hindmost.'
The witness was reprimanded for levity, and directed not to refer to the
devil unnecessarily. In cross-examination he stated that he took
particular notice of the man in irons, as he had repeatedly struck him
and his mates with the butt-end of his rifle. Like the other rebels, he
was very brave against unarmed men, but cut it when the police showed
they meant business.
'Have you not a revengeful feeling against the prisoner Abershaw, the
one who is (very improperly, in my opinion) brought into the Court in
leg-irons?'
'Well, I've the feelings of a man, and I don't cotton to a cowardly dog
who kept rammin' the butt-end of his gun into the small of my back, when
I couldn't defend myself. But I'm here to speak the truth, and to get
justice for an innocent man.'
'I suppose you were told that you would be paid your expense for
attending this trial?'
'I got a Crown subpœna. So did Martin.'
'Who served it to you?'
'A police constable at Toovale.'
'Was anybody with him?'
'Yes, Dick Donahue. He told me and my mate, Martin Hannigan, that Bill
Hardwick was to be tried at Wagga for burnin' the _Dundonald_ and
shootin' at the crew. "That be hanged for a yarn!" says I. "Fancy Bill,
with a farm and a wife and kids, settin' out to burn steamers and kill
people! Holy Moses! Are you sure he didn't rob a church, while he was
about it?" But he said it was no laughing matter, and he might get three
years in gaol. So of course we come, and would have turned up if we'd
had to do it on foot and pay our own expenses!'
'Of course, your Honour will note this witness's evident bias?' said the
counsel for the prisoners.
'I shall take my notes in the ordinary manner,' said the Judge. 'It is
not necessary for counsel to suggest points of practice to a Judge
before he addresses the Court at the conclusion of the evidence.'
'Your Honour will perhaps pardon me; I thought it might have escaped
your notice.'
'I trust, Mr. Carter, that _nothing_ escapes my notice in an important
criminal case. Let the next witness be called.'
'Martin Hannigan is your name?' said Mr. Biddulph. 'You were at Poliah
Camp on the 28th of August, were you not? Do you know the prisoners
before the Court?'
'Some of them. I know Bill Hardwick, and the man with the leg-irons, but
not his name. Yes; I know the one with the black beard—they called him
the President.'
'Who called him by that title?'
'The shearers, or rioters, or loafers, whoever they were. They were six
of one and half-a-dozen of the other, if you ask me.'
'Never mind answering what you are not asked. What did you _see them
do_?'
'Well—Mr. President and his mob, all armed, made Bill and me and eight
or nine other chaps that came down from Tandara, prisoners of war, in a
manner of speakin'—"robbery under arms" I call it, for they boned our
swags, our horses, our grub, and our pack-saddles. I found the horses,
when they were boltin' from the police, or we should 'a never seen 'em
again; two of us had to ride bareback. I seen that gaol-bird there—he's
"done time," I'll take my oath—and another man shovin' Bill Hardwick
between them towards the river-bank—one of 'em was puttin' a gun into
his hand—swore he'd shoot him if he didn't carry it. I saw one of 'em
fire at the boat. I'd not swear he hit anybody. I heard the "President"
say, "We'll burn the bally boat; that'll learn 'em to bring 'scabs' down
the river." I saw the steamer blaze up after the crew and free labourers
was out. Then the police came, and Martin, my mate, and I cleared for
our lives. We caught our horses in a bend and rode down the river to
Toovale, when we got a non-Union shed, and wired in. That's about all I
know.'
By the Crown Prosecutor.
'Your name is Martin Hannigan. Are you an Irishman?'
'No, nor an Englishman either. I'm an Australian, and so was my father.
What's that to do with the case?'
'I thought you were rather humorous in your evidence, that's all. The
Irish are a witty race, you know.'
'So they say. I've never been there. Anythin' else you'd like to ask
me?'
'Only a few questions. When were you served with a subpœna to attend
this Court, and where?'
'At Toovale, on the Lower Darling. The policeman came to the shed where
Cable and I were working and served us. Dick Donahue came with him, and
told us that Bill Hardwick was being tried with the other men for
burning the _Dundonald_.'
'Didn't you know before? That seems strange.'
'Well, we were workin' hard to make up for lost time, by this strike
foolishness, and we were too dashed tired at night to go in for readin'
papers, or anything but supper and a smoke.'
'I suppose Donahue told you all about Hardwick's being arrested, and you
had a talk over the case—what evidence you could give, and so on.'
'He didn't say much about evidence. He knew we was there, and seen all
there was to see; might have _felt_ something too, if a bullet had come
our way—they were flying pretty thick for a few minutes. I seen that
President chap fire once, and load again.'
'And that was all that passed?'
'Yes, pretty well all; we weren't "coached," if that's what you mean.'
'You swear that you saw that man fire, and load again?'
'Yes.'
'Did you see the free labourers?'
'Yes, forty or fifty; some looked damp, as they had been chucked into
the river. Some had only their shirts on. They were stood up in a line,
and counted like a lot of store cattle. They cleared off like us, when
the police came, and the Union fellows bolted. We passed little mobs of
them makin' down the river.'
'You swear you didn't see Hardwick fire his gun?'
'It wasn't his gun, and he didn't shoot.'
The sensational part of the trial was over; other witnesses were
examined for the defence. They agreed in 'swearing up' for the prisoners
before the Court, always excepting for Bill Hardwick. 'The other four
men had exhibited great mildness, and a desire for peace. They had not
seen the captain of the _Dundonald_ assaulted; they saw the steamer on
fire—they didn't know how it had started burnin'—might have been from
kerosene in the cargo—it often happened. There was some shooting, but
the crew of the steamer fired first. They didn't see any of the
prisoners firing at the boat, except William Hardwick. Would swear
positive that he had a gun, and loaded, after he fired every time—yes,
every time. Saw no men thrown overboard. Some of them swam ashore, but
they did it of their own accord.'
These witnesses broke down under cross-examination.
The Crown Prosecutor made a brief but powerful address to the jury,
pointing out discrepancies in evidence, and the manifest perjury
committed by the last witnesses. He trusted the jury would not overlook
their conduct, and appraise their evidence at its true value.
The counsel for the defence, a well-known barrister, made a long and
impassioned appeal to the jury 'to excuse the more or less technically
illegal acts, which, he admitted, could not be defended. It was,
however, in the line of "rough justice," the origin of which was a long
series of capitalistic tyranny and oppression. They had suffered long
from inadequate payment for their skilled labour, for shearing was no
ordinary muscle work which could be performed by the mere nomadic
labourer of the day. It required an apprenticeship, sometimes lasting
for years. It was difficult, and exhausting beyond all other bush
labour, having to be performed at a high rate of speed and for long
hours, unknown to the European workman. The food was of bad quality, the
cooking rude. The huts in which they had to dwell, worse than stables,
nearly always. They had besides to travel long distances, expensive in
time lost and wayside accommodation. For all these reasons, they had
come to the conclusion that the question of pay and allowances, with
other matters, required reconstruction, and failing to obtain a
conference with the Employers' Union—a combination of squatters,
merchants, bankers, and plutocrats generally—they had used the only
weapon the law allowed to the workers of Australia and had organised a
_strike_.
'The labour leaders had in all cases counselled moderation and
constitutional action for the redressing of their wrongs. But—and it was
by none more regretted than by the labour organisers themselves—rude and
undisciplined members of the Union had resorted to personal violence,
and had injured the property of squatters and others, believed to be
desirous of crushing Unionism. Some allowance might be made for these
men. They saw their means of livelihood menaced by cargoes of free
labourers, bought up like slaves by the capitalistic class. They saw
their wages lowered, their industry interfered with—the bread taken out
of their mouth, so to speak—by a wealthy combination, which had no
sympathy for the workers of the land, who had by their labour built up
this enormous wool industry, now employing armies of men and fleets of
vessels.
'Were they, the creators of all this wealth, to be put off with a crust
of bread and a sweating wage? No! They had been worked up to frenzy by a
plutocratic invasion of their natural rights; and if they crossed the
line of lawful resistance to oppression, was it to be wondered at? He
trusted that his Honour, in the highly improbable event of a verdict of
"guilty," would see his way to inflict a merely nominal term of
imprisonment, which, he undertook to say, would act as an effective
caution for the future.'
His Honour proceeded to sum up. 'In this case, the prisoners were
charged with committing a certain act, distinctly a criminal offence,
punishable by a term of imprisonment. He would not dilate upon the
collateral results, but impress upon the jury that all they had to
consider was the evidence which they had heard. Did the evidence point
conclusively to the fact that the prisoners had committed the crime of
arson—the burning of the steamer _Dundonald_—then and there, on the 28th
of August last, on the waters of the Darling River? With the conflicting
interests of the pastoral employers, and the rate of wages, or the
propriety of strikes, or otherwise, they had nothing whatever to do. He
would repeat, _nothing whatever to do_.
'Did they believe the evidence for the prosecution? He would take that
evidence, _seriatim_, from his notes.
'First there was that of the officer of Volunteers, which was direct and
circumstantial. He deposes to having seen the steamer _Dundonald_
floating down the river, burning fiercely then, with apparently no one
on board. He saw a large camp of armed men, who shouted out that they
had burnt the steamer, and would roast the captain and crew, for
bringing up blacklegs. This last expression, he was informed, meant
non-Union labourers. He caused the arrest of several men with arms in
their hands, pointed out to him as having fired at the crew of the
vessel, or having set fire to her. Among them was the prisoner Hardwick,
who had a gun in his hand.
'The next witness was the sergeant of Volunteers. He saw the burning
vessel, the crowd of armed men, and also men firing in the direction of
a barge containing the crew presumably. He arrested by the colonel's
order the six prisoners now before the Court, as well as others. They
had arms in their hands.
'Captain Dannaker of the _Dundonald_ deposed to a very serious state of
matters. He had as passengers forty-five free labourers. Before
daylight, a band of armed, disguised men boarded the vessel—of which
they took full possession. Their action was not far removed from that of
pirates. They threatened with death the captain, the crew, the agent of
the Employers' Union, several of whom were assaulted, and ill-used. They
"looted" the steamer, to use an Indian term—smashing cabins and
appropriating private property. These unlawful acts they completed by
forcing the free labourers to land, compelling the crew to go into the
barge, setting the steamer on fire and casting her away, after which she
was observed to sink. He also saw men on the river-bank firing at the
crew and passengers. He identifies Abershaw, the prisoner in irons, as
the man who assaulted and threatened him. He did not notice prisoner
Hardwick.
'Mr. Davidson, the agent of the Employers' Union, corroborates the
foregoing evidence in all particulars. He himself was assaulted, as were
the free labourers. He saw the rioters throw some of the free labourers
overboard. He saw them unloosing the steamer and preparing it for
burning. His clothes and money were taken out of his cabin. He
identifies Abershaw, but not prisoner Hardwick. He identifies Dawker,
the man with the large beard, as the "President," so called.
'The witness for the Crown, Janus Stoate, gave, in his (the Judge's)
opinion, unsatisfactory evidence after the adjournment. He described
himself as a shearer; also a delegate appointed by the Shearers' Union.
Though present at the scene of outrage, he apparently saw no one conduct
himself indiscreetly, with the exception of his friend and
fellow-shearer, William Hardwick. He swears that he saw _him_ load and
fire a gun in the direction of the steamer. He did not see the two
prisoners Abershaw and Dawker, identified by the other witnesses, say or
do anything illegal. He heard the report of firearms, but could not say
who used them, except in the case of Hardwick. In several respects his
evidence differed from that given before the Bench of Magistrates at
Dilga Court of Petty Sessions, when the prisoners were committed for
trial. He admitted in cross-examination having had a quarrel with
Hardwick at Tandara woolshed, and to having arrived here in custody.
'Sergeant Kennedy, of the New South Wales Police, deposes to the arrest
of this witness at Tandara station, on a charge of maliciously setting
fire to the grass on the run, and to finding in his pocket, when
searched, a cheque drawn in favour of William Hardwick for £55: 17s.,
said prisoner having previously testified as to its being lost or
stolen.
'He would tell the jury here that he had no confidence whatever in the
evidence of the witness Stoate. He appeared to have prevaricated, and
also to have been actuated by a revengeful feeling in the case of
William Hardwick, though, strange to say, he was apparently without eyes
or ears in the case of the other prisoners, all of whom had been
positively identified as having been seen in the commission of unlawful
acts. In conclusion, he would entreat the jury to examine carefully, to
weigh well, the evidence in this very serious and important case, and
with close adherence to the obligation of their oaths, to bring in their
verdict accordingly. The Court now stands adjourned till two o'clock.'
The jury were absent more than an hour, and during that time Mr.
Biddulph persuaded Jenny to have a cup of tea, and otherwise refresh
herself and the children, who had outstayed their usual meal-time.
She, with difficulty, was induced to touch anything: dead to all
ordinary feelings, as she described herself, until Bill's fate was
decided. 'How can I think of anything else?' she exclaimed passionately
to Dick Donahue, who, with unfailing optimism, tried to convince her
that Bill must be let off, and next day would be with her and the
children on the way to Chidowla.
'How can we tell?' said she. 'Wasn't there Jack Woodman, and the lawyers
told him he must be let off on a point of law, instead of which he got
three years, and he's in gaol now.'
'Ah! but that was for cattle-stealing,' replied Mr. Donahue; 'and Jack
had been run in before, for duffing fats off Mount Banda—tried too, and
got off by the skin of his teeth. This time he shook a selector's
poddies, and the jury couldn't stand that. But Bill's innocent, as
everybody knows. See what the Judge said about Stoate's evidence! I'll
bet you a hat to a new bonnet that Bill's out a free man this afternoon,
and that Stoate's in the dock for settin' fire to Tandara, with a six to
one on chance of seem' the inside of Berrima Gaol, and those four other
chaps to keep him company.'
Jenny couldn't help relaxing into a wintry smile at this reassuring
prophecy. But her face assumed its wonted seriousness as she said,
'Well, Dick Donahue, you've been a staunch friend all through this
trouble, and I'll never forget you and Biddy for it as long as I live,
and Bill won't neither.'
'Don't be troubling yourself about that, Mrs. Hardwick,' said Donahue.
'You were a good friend to her and her children before all this
racket—they would have wanted many a meal only for you. But I'm a
changed man. I've some hope before me, thanks to Mr. Calthorpe; and if
Bill will go partners with me, we'll be Hardwick and Donahue, with a
tidy cattle-station one day yet.'
'The Court's sitting,' called out some one, 'and the jury's agreed.' A
rush was made by all interested persons and the spectators generally.
Not a seat was vacant as the Court official demanded silence, and the
Judge's Associate proceeded to read out the names of the jurors, who,
headed by their foreman, stood in line on the floor of the Court.
'Are you agreed, Mr. Foreman, on your verdict?'
'We are.'
'How do you find?'
'We find William Stokes, Daniel Lynch, Hector O'Halloran, Samson Dawker,
and Jeremiah Abershaw guilty of arson, and we find William Hardwick _not
guilty_.'
The verdict of guilty was received in silence. A number of the
spectators were Unionists, and though the more sensible members of the
association had always been opposed to lawless proceedings, yet from a
mistaken sense of comradeship they felt bound not to repudiate the acts
of any of their confraternity. No doubt at the next ballot the voting
would have been almost unanimous against injury to property, and such
outrages as the law's slow but sure retribution has never yet failed to
overtake.
But when the verdict of 'Not Guilty' was announced, there was a cheer
which it tasked the stern mandate of the Deputy-Sheriff and the vigorous
efforts of the police to suppress. Jenny did not hear much of it, as the
fateful words had barely been pronounced when she fell as if dead. She
was promptly carried out into the witnesses' room, and measures taken
for her recovery. When she came to herself, Bill was bending over her,
and the children, smiling amidst their tears, were holding fast to one
of his hands.
* * * * *
Anxious as both husband and wife were to shake the Wagga dust from their
feet and get away up the river to their half-deserted home, Bill's Court
work was not yet concluded. He was constrained to appear again in the
memorable cases of Regina _versus_ Stoate, charged with arson, and the
same Gracious Lady (who impersonates Nemesis on so many occasions over
such a wide area of the earth's surface) _versus_ Stoate, charged with
'larceny from the person.'
No sooner had the jury been dismissed, and, with the witnesses, were
wending their way to the office of the Clerk of the Bench, expectant of
expenses, than the Crown Prosecutor addressed his Honour, representing
that only at luncheon had he received the depositions in a fresh case—he
referred to that of Regina _versus_ Stoate. He was aware that the cases
just disposed of had been supposed to conclude the sitting, and that his
Honour was expected at Narrabri the day after to-morrow; but under the
peculiar circumstances, as several of the witnesses and two members of
the legal profession who were concerned in the last case were to be
briefed in this, he trusted that his Honour would overlook his personal
discomfort, and consent to deal with this case at the present sitting of
the Court.
His Honour feared that the jurors and witnesses in the heavy cases at
Narrabri might suffer inconvenience by the postponement of his
departure; but, as the adjourning of this case to the next Assize
Court—nearly five months—would more seriously affect all concerned, and
as he was opposed on principle to prisoners on committal being detained
in gaol, or defendants delayed one week longer than was actually
necessary, he would accede to counsel's very reasonable request.
'Let another jury be impanelled, Mr. Associate, and then adjourn the
Court until ten o'clock to-morrow morning. I shall consider the evidence
taken in the previous cases, and deliver the sentences at the opening of
the Court. The prisoners may be removed.'
On the following morning the five prisoners were again placed in the
dock, looking anxious, and more or less despondent, with the exception
of Abershaw, the man in irons. He was a hardened offender, and reckless
as to what might befall him in the shape of punishment. He had served
terms of imprisonment in another colony. Like many criminals, he had
unfortunately not taken warning by previous penalties, as it was less
than a year since he had been released. He looked around with an
affected contempt for his surroundings, and smiled at an occasional
sympathiser in Court with unabashed defiance.
But, as the Judge commenced to address the prisoners before announcing
the sentences, the look of tension on the other men's faces was painful
to witness, and even _he_ appeared to feel the seriousness of the
situation.
'William Stokes, Daniel Lynch, Hector O'Halloran, Samson Dawker,
Jeremiah Abershaw, you have been found guilty, on the clearest evidence,
of a dangerous and concerted attack on society. If organisations of this
kind were permitted—if lawless bodies of men, organising themselves with
the discipline of a military force, were permitted to go about the
country interfering with honest men—there could be no safety for any one
in the community. I am gratified to find that the jury have arrived at
the only conclusion rational men could arrive at in such a case, and
with no more time spent in deliberation than was necessary to consider
the case of each man separately. I do not suppose that, excepting the
residents of the neighbourhood of Poliah and the Lower Darling region
generally, people are fully aware of what has been going on there.
'I have had a tolerable knowledge of the country, but I had no idea,
until I came to try this case, what a state of things existed in the
locality mentioned in depositions—a state of things probably
unparalleled in the history of New South Wales.
'I should not have thought it possible that six or seven hundred men
could camp on a main stock route, by a navigable river, for the purpose
of preventing honest men going to work, much less could capture, bind
them as prisoners, and hold them as such.
'Let any one contemplate what may follow if this kind of thing is
permitted. There would be an end of liberty and safety; but the law
exists for the protection of all, whether high or low, in the community,
and those who take part in proceedings of this kind must expect to have
every man's heart hardened against them. If a man's liberty were
interfered with, if his life were threatened by overwhelming numbers, he
and every other honest man is entitled to protect himself by taking the
lives of those who come upon him. This, in law, is termed justifiable
homicide; on the other hand, if lawless persons take life, they are
guilty of murder.
'Having explained the law on intimidation, I will pass on to the
circumstances more immediately surrounding the case. It is proved beyond
doubt that the _Dundonald_ steamer was deliberately and wilfully set on
fire by the prisoners and others. If any person had perished in the
flames by their act, or if, when shooting at the vessel, any of the crew
or passengers had been killed, they would now be on their trial for
murder.
'As it is, they have, most properly, been found guilty of arson by the
jury, a crime punishable, under Victoria No. 89, section 6, with
imprisonment with hard labour, and solitary confinement.
'I accordingly sentence Samson Dawker, who has been referred to as the
"President," and Jeremiah Abershaw, to three years' imprisonment with
hard labour, and periods of solitary confinement, both to be served in
Berrima Gaol. The other prisoners do not appear to have been so actively
employed in these unlawful, demoralising acts. They are therefore
sentenced to two years' imprisonment only, with hard labour. I cannot
conclude my remarks without stating that I fully agree with the verdict
of acquittal by the jury in the case of William Hardwick, who might have
been deprived of his liberty by a conspiracy of unprincipled persons,
had not the jury rightly discriminated as to the manifest unreliability
of the evidence against him. He therefore is enabled to leave the Court,
I have pleasure in stating, without a stain upon his character.'
REGINA _v._ STOATE.
_Charged with Arson._
'May it please your Honour,' said the Crown Prosecutor, 'the prisoner
before the Court is charged with wilfully and maliciously setting fire
to the grass of the Tandara Run. I purpose calling the arresting
constable and the manager, Mr. Macdonald; also the aboriginal Daroolman,
who is exceptionally intelligent. The case will not be a lengthy one.
Call Senior Sergeant Kennedy.'
'My name is John Kennedy, Senior Sergeant of the New South Wales Police
Force, stationed at Dilga, on the Darling. I called at Tandara station
on duty. I there saw Mr. Macdonald, the manager. He remarked that there
had been no rain for a month, and the grass was very dry. He requested
me to accompany him a few miles on the up-river road. He mentioned that
a man named Stoate had left shortly before, having been refused rations,
threatening "to get square with him." He considered him a likely person
to set fire to the Run, and was just going to track him up.
'I agreed, and put my black boy on the trail. After riding two or three
miles, the boy pointed to the tracks leaving the road and making towards
a sandhill. We rode fast, as we saw smoke rising. The aboriginal said
"that one swaggie makum fire longa grass, me seeum lightem match." We
saw a man kneeling down, and galloped towards him. Apparently he did not
hear us coming; as he looked up he seemed surprised. The grass around
him had just ignited and was burning fiercely. There was no wood near.
Mr. Macdonald seized him by the arm, saying, "You scoundrel! You're a
pretty sort of delegate! I thought you were up to some mischief."
Prisoner seemed confused and unable to say anything. The black boy
picked up a brass match-box, half full of wax matches; also a
half-burned wax match. The match-box (which I produce) had J. S.
scratched on one side. Prisoner declined to say anything, except that he
was going to boil his billy. There was no wood, nor any trace of roadway
in the vicinity. I arrested him on the charge of setting fire to the
Tandara Run. He made no reply. On searching him I found the cheque
referred to in my former depositions, it was drawn in favour of William
Hardwick for £55: 17s., also a knife, two sovereigns, and some small
articles. I conveyed him to the lock-up at Curbin, where he appeared
before the Bench of Magistrates, and was committed to take his trial at
the next ensuing Assize Court. We put out the fire with difficulty; if
it had beat us it might have destroyed half the grass on the Run.'
John Macdonald, being sworn, states:
'I am the manager of Tandara station. I have known the prisoner, off and
on, for some years, as a shearer and bush labourer. He came to me on
December 20th and asked for rations. He was on foot. I said, "You had
better ask the Shearers' Union to feed you, I have nothing for
agitators; you tried to spoil our shearing, and now you come whining for
rations." I threatened to kick him off the place.
'He went away muttering, "I'll get square with you yet." Being uneasy, I
mounted my horse, and shortly afterwards the last witness and a black
boy came up, and at my request accompanied me. The boy followed his
track till it turned off the main road in the direction of a sandhill.
As we rode nearer, a small column of smoke rose up. We found prisoner
standing by the fire, which had just started. I saw the black boy pick
up the box of matches (produced in Court) from under prisoner's feet. It
was marked J. S., and was nearly full of wax matches. The black boy
pointed to a half-burnt match, close to the tuft of grass from which the
fire had started. I said, "You scoundrel! You're a pretty sort of
delegate!" I saw the sergeant take the cheque (produced) for £55: 17s.,
payable to William Hardwick, out of his pocket. If we had been five
minutes later, all the men in the country couldn't have put the fire
out; it would have swept the Run.'
'What would have been the effect of that?' asked the Judge.
'We might have had to travel 100,000 sheep, which alone would have
needed fifty shepherds, besides the expense of cooks and
ration-carriers, with tents, provisions, and loss of sheep. Altogether
it would have meant an expenditure of several thousand pounds at the
very least—besides injury to the sheep.'
'Have you any questions to ask, prisoner?' said the Judge.
'None,' said Mr. Stoate. 'These witnesses are at the beck of the
capitalistic class, and will swear anything.'
Richard Donahue and the black boy corroborated the previous evidence,
the latter saying, 'Me seeum light when piccaninny match-box tumble down
alonga that one fella tarouser.'
Being asked if he had anything to say in his defence, Mr. Stoate elected
to be sworn, taking the oath with great solemnity, and making a
long-winded, rambling defence, in which he abused the capitalists, the
police, the bankers, and the selectors, who, he said, were all in a
league with the 'plutercrats' to crush the Union workers, and grind down
the faces of the poor. With regard to the cheque, he had picked it up,
and intended to restore it to Hardwick. If that man swore that he never
gave him or any other man authority to take care of his money, he swore
what was false. It was a common custom among mates. If the jury
convicted him on this trumped-up charge, which any one could see was
manufactured, he would willingly suffer in the cause of his
fellow-workers. But let the oppressor beware—a day of reckoning would
come!